


Birthday Spankings

by Kitacular



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Crying, Established Relationship, Humiliation, Knifeplay, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitacular/pseuds/Kitacular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's somebody's birthday and Aramis has heard of a strange tradition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Spankings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snow_Glory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_Glory/gifts).



> So Snow_Glory left the following comment on one of my works:
> 
> "Oh god.. I need Porthos to spank Aramis again lol... I forgot about that story."
> 
> Ta-da! Ask and ye shall receive.
> 
> \--------------
> 
> I'm adding a note as I think the intent behind this work wasn't quite clear. The person I wrote this for has read a lot of my other works in which Aramis and Porthos are in a remarkably healthy, very loving D/s relationship with Aramis on the top. Occasionally, Aramis needs to switch and when he does, he likes to be humiliated. It's just a little snippet into one fun day of their lives. 
> 
> Their lives are filled with love, laughter and some really excellent sex. They always cuddle, they always kiss and they always provide exactly what the other needs.
> 
> As a personal aside, I would like to point out that not all of us bottomy types need or want cuddly aftercare :)

“Oh come on, Porthos! It's my birthday!” Aramis whined.

Porthos looked up at his pouting lover. He was working at a map spread out on the table in front of him.

“It's April, Sire.”

“And?” Aramis asked, sidling around the table to Porthos' side.

“Your birthday is in November,” Porthos answered, raising an eyebrow.

“So?” he murmured, sliding his hand up Porthos' back, his fingers toying with the decorated collar of his shirt.

“So it's not your birthday,” Porthos laughed, throwing down his quill and turning in his chair to face Aramis.

“Close enough,” the marksman insisted. He knocked Porthos' sword away with his foot, straddling Porthos' lap and resting his arms around his lover's neck. While neither of them were wearing boots or their doublets, Porthos was still wearing his sword belt.

“It's **d'Artagnan's** birthday. And it was yesterday,” Porthos chuckled, wrapping his arms around Aramis who was simply padding around in his shirt and trousers.

“I see no reason why I can't have a present as well,” Aramis insisted, wriggling closer.

“Mhmm,” hummed Porthos suspiciously. “What it is that you want?”

He ran his hands up over Aramis' back and, seeing the way he tilted his head back, buried his hand into the dark waves, gripping gently.

“Just you,” Aramis murmured innocently.

“Uh huh.”

“Well... Mayyyybe...” Aramis hedged, tossing his head and leaning back against the circle of Porthos' arms.

“Yeees?” asked Porthos slowly, feeling Aramis shiver as his hand tightened in the hair.

“Did you hear the Captain and d'Artagnan?” Aramis asked, fidgeting slightly in Porthos' lap.

“More specific?”

“They were talking about a silly Gascony tradition,” Aramis said quietly, a faint blush coming to his cheeks.

Porthos smirked. It was a rare thing for Aramis to blush and he dimly recalled a comment the Captain had made. He considered the suddenly shy expression on his wriggling lover's face and he felt himself stirring.

“I had a lot of beer. I don't remember,” Porthos shrugged, tugging Aramis' shirt out of his breeches.

“Well apparently it's tradition in Gascony to receive... on one's birthday...” Aramis trailed off.

Porthos' smirk deepened. Seeing the normally eloquent man lost for words usually only hinted at one thing. He wanted Porthos to be in control while they played. Unfortunately for Aramis, what it was he normally needed was to be made to suffer and few things turned Aramis on more than being embarrassed.

“Wine? You did have a lot of wine,” Porthos replied, running his free hand up and under Aramis' now loose shirt.

“No... They... They give birthday... spankings,” Aramis mumbled.

“As presents?” Porthos asked, feigning confusion even as his roaming hand continued to smooth across Aramis' back.

“Mhmm,” murmured Aramis, tugging his head slightly against the tight grip in his hair.

“That seems counter productive,” Porthos hummed. His hand settled on Aramis' tail bone and pressed him closer.

Aramis writhed appreciatively and couldn't stop the slight gasp that came to his lips when Porthos pulled slightly, tilting his head back.

“Why would they ruin each other's birthdays like that?” Porthos asked.

“Mmm. I don't... Ah... I don't think they ruin the day,” Aramis said, his voice faltering.

“To hurt someone while they're celebrating... That would surely be bad?”

“Ohhh,” Aramis moaned, trying to lift his head back up and finding it held in place. The blush on his cheeks was spreading down his exposed neck and across his collarbones.

Porthos knew him so well, knew not just what he wanted but how he wanted to get there. He needed this. He needed the shame, the embarrassment, the humiliation, to beg, to plead.

“Porthos,” he said, breathlessly.

“Aramis,” Porthos echoed, his voice amused.

The writhing Musketeer on his lap whimpered again, the mocking tone cutting him to the quick.

“Please,” he whispered.

Porthos shook him slightly.

“Ask, Aramis. Ask for what you want. What you need,” he insisted.

Aramis winced at the calm in his voice. It was easier to admit the need and the desires when Porthos forced it out of him. To have him calmly wait was almost unbearable. The warmth on his face had risen to a blaze, the heat making his skin prickle and his eyes water.

“Porthos, please,” he whispered.

“Please what?” Porthos repeated, not moving an inch. He kept the grip on his hair tight but didn't pull. He kept the pressure on his tail bone but didn't press them any closer.

I... I would like... Please... Dios! Please, Porthos,” he moaned.

“What do you need, Aramis?” Porthos asked, his voice softening. He pushed gently on Aramis' head raising it until their eyes met.

Aramis gasped when he met the deep brown eyes of his lover. They were calm, patient, warm, deep and rich. He could stare at them for hours. There was resilience there, as well. He knew Porthos would do anything for him but he wasn't going to budge on this. He shivered in Porthos' grasp and when he spoke it was barely above a whisper.

“Please, Porthos. Please spank me.”

“Why, of course,” Porthos said, warmly.

The grip in his hair turned painful and Aramis gasped, even as he was pulled forwards into a violent kiss. He was too off balance to kiss back properly, being caught off guard by the sudden shift. It was messy, all tongues and teeth as Porthos became rougher.

Aramis was just beginning to gain his equilibrium when Porthos violently pushed him off of his lap, dumping him on the floor at his feet. He was shaking with adrenaline but couldn't be positive it wasn't fear when Porthos stood, drawing himself to his impressive height while Aramis remained sprawled on the floor.

He, again, wasn't given a chance to calm down when Porthos stooped to grip him by the upper arm. In the long strides to the sofa, Aramis barely had time to get his feet under him before he was thrown unceremoniously to the floor again while Porthos sat on the sofa and leaned forwards to look at him. His elbows rested on his knees and he let his hands dangle between his legs as he surveyed the panting man at his feet.

“Porthos,” he gasped, pulling himself onto his knees and edging forwards.

“Get up,” sneered Porthos.

The shift in his tone hit Aramis like a blow to the stomach. The disgust, the derision... It took the breath from his lungs even as it sent a wave of arousal to his groin. He didn't follow the direction, hungry for the force he knew Porthos could use. Instead, he inched forwards on his knees, drawing closer to Porthos.

Porthos stretched out his leg and pressed his bare foot into Aramis' chest, holding him back. He watched Aramis' eyes darken with hunger and he pushed violently with his leg, pushing the marksman back to the floor.

Aramis licked his lips hungrily, some of his normal confidence returning. He raised his eyebrows, taunting Porthos, drawing him in.

Porthos, however, wasn't going to play it that way. He relaxed back against the sofa, watching Aramis. Several long seconds passed between them, staring at each other. Aramis pouted, trying to tease Porthos until he relented but Porthos simply looked at his nails, feigning boredom. Aramis moved back onto his knees and crawled towards Porthos, trying to put some sway into his hips.

Porthos watched and leaned forwards again. Aramis' self assured smirk returned and he raised his eyebrows as he finally reached Porthos.

“Mmm, hi,” he murmured.

“Even when you're down on the floor and kicked like a dog, you still come crawling to me,” Porthos said, his voice like treacle, thick and sweet. “You're so shameless.”

Aramis whimpered and drew back, hugging himself against the sharp words. He looked away for a moment and it was all the opening Porthos needed.

He launched himself off the sofa, his weight and force being enough to overpower Aramis since he was distracted. As he moved, he easily grasped Aramis' wrists so when he landed, he was pinned to the floor, his arms outstretched above his head. Porthos' weight pinned his lower body to the floor, holding him immobile. There was a loud clatter as Porthos' sword hit the floor beside them.

As the breath whooshed out of him, so did Aramis' confidence. He felt the first tendrils of surrender clawing at him and gave a testing movement of his body, relishing at the immovability of Porthos above him.

“Trying to escape already?” Porthos asked, in full knowledge of what Aramis would be doing. It was something he always did, as well.

“No,” he whimpered.

“Just trying to excite me, then?” Porthos asked.

“No,” Aramis moaned, pulling on his wrists slightly.

“Then why are you writhing under me like an impatient whore?” he asked silkily.

Aramis turned his face away, closing his eyes against the urge to struggle.

“Ohhh.... I touched a nerve. Is that it?” Porthos asked, pressing himself harder onto Aramis' body, crushing the air from his chest. “You need to be done with me so you can move on to another client? Get more silver in your purse? Got to get as many cocks into your body as possible?”

Aramis didn't enough breath in his body to protest. He couldn't even whimper with the full weight of his muscled lover on top of him.

“Nothing to say?” Porthos asked. “Must be right then.”

Aramis let out a small whine, using up the last of his trapped breath. Porthos lifted up his weight and Aramis sucked in air greedily. He quickly held his breath again when he heard the unmistakable sound of Porthos drawing his knife from the small of his back.

It was a sound he had heard hundreds of times. Normally it meant safety and security at his back as they moved into dangerous situations. Today... Today it meant something entirely different and the hair stood up on his arms.

Porthos pressed his weight down and Aramis whined again, feeling his chest compressed once more. He forced his face back to meet Porthos' but winced at the smirk on his face. He quickly turned his face away again. He tried, and failed, a few times to draw breath and began to panic slightly as a burning in his chest began to build.

“Porth- plea-” he gasped.

Porthos lifted his body for a moment, smirking when Aramis gulped in air, noisily. He took the opportunity to transfer Aramis' wrists into one hand and then, while Aramis was still regaining his breath, hauled the man to his feet.

Aramis swayed dangerously on his feet but the tight grip on his arms above his head kept him mostly upright. Even as his breath began to settle, he felt the tip of Porthos' knife at his throat. All his instincts kicked in and he froze.

Porthos released Aramis wrists suddenly and they dropped heavily to his sides.

“Take your shirt off,” Porthos growled.

Aramis' eyes were wild, real fear creeping into them. Porthos kept his face calm, simply staring back at Aramis until he shakily did as he was bid, removing his shirt carefully, leaning away from the knife point, whimpering as Porthos followed his every movement.

“Now tell me something,” Porthos murmured as he took the shirt from Aramis' trembling hands and tossed it carelessly to the floor. “Why do you want me to spank you?”

A flicker of defiance rippled in the black, glittering eyes but Porthos took another step forwards, pressing the knife point against Aramis' throat.

“It...” Aramis trailed off. He licked his lips and swallowed nervously, his mouth dry. “It sounded like fun.”

Porthos took another step, crowding into Aramis' personal space and easily intimidating him with just his bulk.

“You're lying,” he said quietly.

“No!” Aramis protested, his eyes darting from Porthos' face to the wrist under his chin. While he couldn't see the knife that wrist was holding, he could certainly feel it pressed dangerously against his throat.

“You don't know that you're lying,” Porthos murmured, thoughtfully.

Aramis opened his mouth and closed it without speaking a few times. He settled for frowning in confusion, hoping Porthos would explain.

“Come with me,” Porthos said bluntly.

He grabbed Aramis by the wrist and walked to the sofa, pulling him along. He released Aramis' wrist and calmly undid his sword belt, taking the opportunity to sheathe his knife. A flicker of amusement rippled through him, seeing Aramis stood awkwardly beside him as he sat down, comfortably.

The marksman looked around, unhappily. He'd welcomed the force and the bullying. He'd had no chance to escape from it, to think, to worry. His frowned uncertainly when Porthos patted his lap. He moved forwards to straddle Porthos' lap but a broad hand was raised to stop him.

“Not on,” Porthos murmured. “Over.”

A small whimper escaped Aramis and he realised, with a flood of humiliation that Porthos wasn't going to make this easy.

“Please,” he whispered.

Porthos simply shook his head slowly. Aramis closed his eyes in shame as he realised he was going to have to lower himself to get what he wanted. What he needed.

“Porthos,” he whispered, his eyes still closed.

“I'm here,” Porthos said softly, making no move towards Aramis. “I'm here for you.”

Aramis nodded, his eyes still closed. This was Porthos. He could be anything, anyone with Porthos. He could relish in his shame, express his needs and he'd never be judged. He just had to take that step.

Without opening his eyes, Aramis took a step towards Porthos and, feeling his knees bump against Porthos', began to lower himself.

“Good boy,” Porthos murmured. “Wait just a moment, though.” Aramis froze. “Undo your breeches and braies,” Porthos instructed gently.

Another wave of humiliation hit Aramis and his knees nearly buckled. Porthos wasn't going to undo them for him. He was gong to be forced to expose himself. He whimpered and his hands shook violently.

“I can't,” he whispered.

“You can. I didn't **ask**.You will,” Porthos murmured.

Aramis nodded and, with his eyes still closed, gathered his courage enough to undo the laces. He could feel the heat of Porthos' gaze as he opened his clothes and pushed them down over his hips.

A soft chuckle from Porthos made the blush on his face and neck spread lower across his collarbones, heating his skin. He knew Porthos could see his erect member between his legs and he wanted so much to hide it. He pushed the material down over his hips, exposing his buttocks to the air.

“Stop,” Porthos said softly.

Aramis froze again, his trousers and underwear bunched around his thighs. Somehow this made him feel more debauched and he whimpered at the image he must present. Blushing furiously, cock hard, bottom exposed.

“Come on, then,” Porthos encouraged, briskly.

Aramis didn't hesitate this time. Laying himself over Porthos' lap would, at least, hide his cock from view and so he nervously bent over. Strong, warm hands guided him into position until his side was firmly pressed against Porthos' stomach. His legs dangled on the floor but Porthos had arranged him so that his cock was pressed painfully against Porthos' leather clad thigh.

Aramis fidgeted slightly, unsure what to do with his arms until Porthos' hand took his wrists and pressed them into the sofa, up above his head.

“There,” Porthos murmured. His free hand stroked possessively across the pale buttocks, soothing Aramis' tense body. “That's better. This is where you need to be, isn't it?”

Aramis whimpered and fidgeted slightly. He was desperate for Porthos to spank him, to make it hurt, to ease the prickling hunger running through his body, and yet he knew it would be painful. He knew Porthos would push it beyond pleasure and he was nervous.

“Shh,” Porthos murmured, continuing to stroke over the two round orbs of muscle. He really did have a delicious backside.

Gradually Aramis relaxed. He knew these hands and couldn't resist the soothing movements for long. He felt the hand withdraw for a moment and then return with a sharp, stinging slap.

While his first reaction was shock, he hissed in satisfaction as the pain flared up on his skin.

Porthos recognised the sound instantly and quickly began a measured, slow, repetitive rhythm. Every strike was careful but heavy, alternating each buttock. Each slap had enough time to raise pink flashes on his skin, showing Porthos where he'd been. He was methodical, spreading the slaps around, covering every inch of Aramis' skin. Only when both cheeks were pink from top to bottom did he pause.

Aramis hadn't made a sound the entire time and had barely moved, simply luxuriating in the feeling of the sharp pain. He needed this. He just hadn't realised how much he'd needed this until this moment.

Porthos smoothed his hand across the skin, feeling its warmth. A thousand quips came to mind about Aramis' silent acceptance but they all died on his lips. Instead he began again.

The strikes were harder this time. Much harder. The force rocked Aramis' body each time and he gasped in pain as the first stroke fell. Each new slap brought another whimper, another gasp, another yelp. The pain was growing. It felt like it wasn't just on his skin any more. The strength of the blows was building a deep ache in his flesh.

Porthos listened to Aramis' small noises of pain for several minutes and continued to strike him. When the noises shifted into something deeper, to groans of pain, he paused again. Aramis' skin was no longer pink. It was a deep red and his body was trembling. He lowered his hand to stroke and a low hiss of pain escaped the half naked man on his lap.

“Why do you want me to spank you?” Porthos asked, repeating his question from earlier.

“Fun?” asked Aramis in a small voice.

“That was fun. You want me to continue. Why?” Porthos pressed, continuing to stroke the heated skin.

“I... Please,” he whispered. “I feel... I need...”

Porthos just kept stroking without replying. Aramis' face was turned away but Porthos could see the small crinkles at his temple that showed his eyes were screwed close.

“I want... I'm... I...” Aramis said haltingly. He was growing more agitated and Porthos took pity on him.

“You're a dirty whore that needs punishing,” he said flatly, without emotion.

Aramis moaned loudly at the words and shook his head as much as his position would allow.

“Don't deny it. You interrupted my work and came onto me like a tart in a cheap tavern,” Porthos stated. He finished his sentence with a violent smack that bounced the noise around the room and ripped a yelp of pain from Aramis' throat.

“You were too ashamed to ask for what you wanted so you rubbed against me like a bitch in heat,” he continued, smacking Aramis again and another pained yelp sounded.

“You crawled on your knees to me like a desperate slut.”

Another resounding crack and this time the noise Aramis made was somewhere between a yelp and a sob.

“Even when I kicked you away, you came crawling back.”

This time it was a broken, low moan. The truth in the words were cutting into Aramis like sharp blades and stripping away all of his bravado.

“You didn't even deny it when I said you were eager to find more cocks to get inside your filthy whore body,” Porthos growled.

Aramis whined loudly. The pain in his buttocks was breath taking but the pain in Porthos' words was doing the damage. He could feel his eyes welling up and he screwed them even tighter closed, trying to will away the tears.

“And even when I was violent, pushed you, pulled you, threatened you... Your filthy little cock got hard, didn't it?” Porthos growled, landing his hardest blow yet.

This time Aramis did cry out, a desperate, broken plea.

“Stop!”

Porthos blinked in surprise. He made no move to let Aramis up but did stop the blows. After only a few seconds, though, he recognised the tremble and the panic in Aramis' body. Aramis just didn't know what he wanted.

“And then,” he whispered, pausing to see how Aramis reacted. His entire body tensed and Porthos decided to push his luck. “Then you lay over my lap, submitting and begging for punishment.”

Aramis broke at this and a small broken sob escaped him.

“Yes. Yes, please. Yes!” he cried, his voice hitching.

“Dirty boy,” Porthos muttered in disgust, before smacking him again, harder than ever.

Aramis' voice broke and another strangled half sob came to his lips.

Porthos began a quick flurry of blows. They weren't as hard but they were fast, sudden, repetitive and yet brutal. Over and over he struck. Each strike brought Aramis' voice another octave higher and his legs kicked out wildly.

The pain was building and building and building. His skin was so sensitive and he could already feel it bruising. It was rapidly becoming more than he could handle and he could hardly draw breath. Porthos was relentless, inescapable and Aramis could hardly focus. The blows were coming too hard and too fast for him to do so. Before the pain had bloomed after each strike, another had landed. He was growing more and more taut, like a bow string and he was growing increasingly distressed.

Porthos' hand was stinging and burning with the intensity of the spanking but he couldn't stop now. Finally, just as it felt like his hand was on fire, Aramis broke.

A loud, agonised wail filled the room and he dissolved into sobs. Porthos didn't let up though. He slowed down slightly but continued to rain blows down while Aramis' entire body sagged beneath them, sobs shaking his prone form. He wept, unashamedly and loudly. He let his body empty itself entirely of all the tension and frustration.

As the crying grew quieter, Porthos slowed and lightened his strikes. He stopped entirely while Aramis was still crying softly and held his hand above the skin, feeling the heat rising from it. There wasn't an inch of buttock left untouched but the high, rounded centres were a deep, angry purple where bruising would surely form.

Aramis finally settled into quiet sniffles and hissed when Porthos' broad hand settled on his bruised, pained flesh. He stroked slowly, gently but Aramis still writhed as his heated flesh felt burned by the very lightest touch.

“Can you stand?” asked Porthos quietly.

Aramis thought for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“Can you kneel for a minute?”

At this, Aramis nodded. Porthos smiled and gently moved Aramis off his lap and onto the floor on his knees. He quickly collected a damp cloth from the kitchen and returned, washing Aramis' face gently before drawing him close and kissing him softly.

Aramis wasn't entirely sure where he was. His bottom was still on fire and there were deep painful stabs of pain beginning but he felt like he was swimming in molasses, trying to work out how he felt. He was floating in a sea of sensation and simply wallowed in it, content to daydream. He was dimly surprised, then, when Porthos scooped him up and settled them on the sofa.

Porthos lay flat on his back and arranged Aramis on top of him, their stomachs pressed together. He didn't bother doing up Aramis' clothing, his cock having wilted under the intense pain and simply stroked soothingly across Aramis' back.

“Love you,” Aramis murmured, nuzzling into Porthos' neck.

“Love you too,” Porthos replied. “Happy birthday,” he added with a grin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts and requests always welcome at kitacularao3 at gmaildotcom :D


End file.
